Give Me A Texas Ranger (19 page)

About the time Hayden crossed the wobbly bridge separating Buffalo Springs from Buffalo Wallow he got his second wind, almost forgetting how tired and hungry he was.

It didn’t take him long to get to the sheriff’s office. He walked in and caught the local lawman sitting with his feet on his desk, leaning back, his hat covering his face. It took every ounce of resistance Hayden had not to give a little shove to Oldham’s boots and send him off his perch head over teakettle. Hayden struggled with the temptation, but slammed the door shut to jar the ol’ coot awake.

The chair almost tipped over backward as the sheriff struggled to sit up. “McGraw, been waitin’ on you,” he said, reaching out for the warrant.

Yeah, just like a boar hog waitin’ on slop.

Oldham barely glanced over the paper and handed it back, obviously not going to make excuses for being asleep.

“Looks to be in order, but let me get one damn thing straight. You lied for Ella Stevenson. She wasn’t your wife until the JP stepped in, but she is now. I’m figurin’ the captain won’t take too kindly to knowin’ he has a renegade Ranger out harassing good folks. Keeping the JP from doing his job.” He took out a plug of tobacco and chewed off a piece. “Just remember, she’s your responsibility now, and everybody will be keepin’ an eye on you two.” The sheriff’s cheek rounded as he fiddled with the tobacco in his mouth. “Better make sure you and your prisoner, who is now legally your wife, are livin’ together, like all the respectable married folks in this town. And if you touch a hair on the little woman—”

Hayden turned abruptly. “I can assure you my wife isn’t anybody’s little woman.” Damn, even his tongue couldn’t deny she was his wife.

Stalking out, Hayden only vaguely heard the sheriff’s parting shot. “If I find out she wasn’t your wife when you took her into custody, I’ll see your cocky ass is suspended permanently.”

The damn pigheaded sheriff had upped the ante.

Obviously Hayden was in somewhat better graces with his captain or he would not have sent the warrant. All well and good, but now wasn’t the time to give his ranking officer a reason to suspend him again. He had no choice but to send word to his captain that he was detained in Buffalo Wallow.

He headed for the telegraph office. Hayden stuck around after sending his message and received a reply from headquarters about as quickly as he’d ever seen a telegram turn around and be decoded. It said simply, “Status quo.” At least he knew where he stood with his captain.

Three hours later, Hayden felt almost human again. He’d eaten a thick, rare steak at the Buffalo Springs Hotel dining room, and had a much-needed shave and haircut. Amusement tickled his throat. Bet Miss Sassy-butt wouldn’t even recognize him.

He’d been out of tobacco for days and needed some. Although he rarely smoked, he felt naked without having the makin’s in his saddlebags. Some habits die hard.

A few doors down from the hotel, he saw a sign:
SONNY WATSON’S MERCANTILE
. He entered and walked straight to the counter, coming face-to-face with the woman who had stalked out of the town-hall meeting waving her umbrella.

“What can I get you?” the woman said curtly, making it known that she held mixed feelings between whether to respect him as a Ranger or toss him out on his ear for being married to a troublemaker from the other side of the creek.

“Bull Durham, ma’am.” He didn’t bother to look at her further, choosing to survey the canned goods on the shelves behind the counter. “Make it two.”

She shoved two muslin bags in front of him. “That’ll be two bits. Need lights or papers?”

“No, ma’am.” He paid double the going price for the tobacco, tipped his Stetson, and turned to walk away.

A middle-aged man wearing a visor and apron stepped beside the clerk. “Ranger McGraw, just got in something that wife of yours might like.” He nodded dismissively to the woman, who walked toward a waiting customer.

“I’m Sonny Watson and that’s my wife, Emma.” The proprietor reached into a display case and pulled out a tray of women’s accessories—a half dozen rings, hairclips, and earrings. “She might like this.” He handed Hayden a hairclip. “Mother-of-pearl chips in it.”

Hayden accepted the piece. His gut told him the owner was more interested in having his say than selling anything.

Sure enough, the proprietor began. “That woman of yours is a fine lady, nothin’ like her pa. She doesn’t deserve the treatment some dish out.” He picked up a broach. “This one’d make her smile.” Mr. Watson looked Hayden square in the eye. “Just don’t forget that every brown cow with a white face isn’t a Hereford. So make sure you know the difference. Nothin’ looks the same when it’s turned inside out.”

A true Texan—tell it like it is and let the chips fall where they may.

“I’ll take the hairclip,” Hayden said.

Everyone seemed concerned for his new wife’s welfare. New wife! Hellfire and brimstone, he’d already gotten used to calling her that, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

Hayden paid the man. Tucking the tissue-wrapped bauble in his pocket, he thanked the owner and headed out the door.

No more than a minute later, Hayden saw the sign above Chip and Hell’s. Just about the time he came abreast of the entry, Baldy barreled out, blocking Hayden’s path. One of the swinging doors hit Hayden smack dab in his shoulder.

“Didn’t think you had enough cojones to come back up into this part of town, but I got a word of advice for you.” Baldy wobbled a little on his feet, his words even louder than usual. “Watch your back. I don’t like Texas Rangers, and I sure as hell don’t like you.”

“You threatening me?” Hayden casually pulled back his coat and flexed his fingers over his Colt. He was itching to draw on the jackass. No doubt he’d get the first and only shot in if it came to that.

“Not a threat. A promise.” Baldy stalked down the steps.

Hayden wasn’t sure whose plow he wanted to clean first, the egotistical lawman’s or his arrogant sidekick’s.

Hayden watched the weasel halt next to a brightly colored drummer’s wagon sitting outside the livery. He nodded to the tall, lanky, weather-beaten man who stopped his unloading, looked around, and followed the troublemaker to the other side of the wagon, out of sight.

Instead of taking the bridge across the stream, Hayden figured he could cool off by walking the banks and enjoying the sunset. One thing about this part of the world, he never got tired of seeing the horizon blazing alive with orange, yellow, and crimson, a field of Indian paintbrush. Tonight was one of those times that a magnificent setting sun improved the whole day. He needed to be alone and think. Maybe he was gettin’ soft. Maybe he didn’t crave rangerin’ like he once had. Maybe a pretty woman was the cause of the knot in his gut.

Once Hayden spied the cornfield that he’d noticed earlier, he knew he was nearing the backside of Molly Lou’s. As he recollected, the field was only a few hundred yards from Ella’s small garden. He cut through the tall stalks.

After walking down a few rows, he came across a roll of barbed wire and corn shucks stacked waist high. Dry, too dried out for them to have been shucked today. They could begin a prairie fire in the dangerously hot, dry weather.

Hayden found Stewball more than content, munching on an apple. He’d better get the gelding away from Ella’s garden pretty damn quick or the dang thing would have a stomachache so bad that he’d be laid up for days recuperating.

Meandering over to the outer building where Dixie had indicated his gear had been stored, he smelled the distinct tang of sourdough starter. Strange place to store leavening for biscuits. Light slipped between the crooked slats, casting catawampus shadows on the dirt.

Hayden didn’t even have to get any closer to the shack to recognize Baldy’s boisterous voice, overriding another man’s short, choppy words.

“Everybody knows Ella is gullible.” Baldy laughed contemptuously. “She’s as stubborn as a damn mule. Trusts too much. Always gotta do what’s right, but it got her into a heap of dookey this time.”

“Hell, that Ranger won’t be around long enough to find out he was had. We’ve seen to it.” The other man chipped out his words. “That was the easiest setup I’ve ever seen. He jumped on her like a lovesick bull with his lady. Worked like a charm.”

Baldy barked, “Willard, enough fiddle-farting around. We gotta get more water in here pronto, you hear?”

“Where the hell is Mullinex?”

“He’s busy. Just do your job, and let me worry about mine,” said Baldy. “If you don’t quit your lollygagging around, you won’t be gettin’ outta here for Wagon Mound until it’s siesta time tomorrow.”

Hayden couldn’t see the man called Willard, and didn’t recognize the voice as any of those he’d heard that day.

Until the reference to Muley was made, Hayden felt pretty sure the men were saying that Ella had set him up to marry her, but suddenly the facts didn’t fit together. What would she get out of marrying him? He had no money, looked like a bear awakening from a winter’s hibernation the last time she saw him, and was just about as cranky as one too. Nothing to offer a wife.

So why would she and her friends hornswoggle him into marrying her?

He’d just seen Baldy in town less than an hour ago, and now he was in Ella’s shed, having water toted in? Nothing made sense. Not the water. Not the sourdough starter, and certainly not Baldy and this man Willard.

Years of experience and ol’ fashioned instinct told Hayden something was wrong. Very wrong. And they damn sure weren’t taking baths in there either.

Hayden had originally intended to go and talk to Ella. Apologize for his bad attitude, try to make amends, and then decide how best to take care of the marriage fiasco. He figured it would be better to clear it up with a judge than to battle the Justice of the Peace to have it annulled. He’d certainly not get any backing from the sheriff. But now, after everything he’d seen and heard, he felt the need to stick around. Since he hadn’t received an assignment from headquarters, he was free to do whatever was necessary to protect the new frontier and its citizens.

On the back side of the shed, a mule brayed. A second one answered. Hayden wanted to see what was back there besides the animals, but he wasn’t familiar with the building and didn’t want to chance making noise. He couldn’t investigate…not in the dark…not tonight.

How did the two men and Ella fit together? What kind of scam were they running? She didn’t seem the type to be a con artist, but it wasn’t like she’d wear a hatband saying such. She had made no bones about not liking Texas Rangers, but why him in particular? Either he was as dumb as a stump or was smitten by the multifaceted woman.

Hayden now had an even stronger desire to talk to Ella, but there were too many warnings bouncing around in his head for it to be the right time.

Low light flickered in the kitchen area off Molly Lou’s. Nope, now wasn’t the time; she was probably asleep, if she wasn’t tending to the saloon. He knew if he did find her awake, he wouldn’t be able to resist touching her, even tuck her into bed. Hell, sleep in the same bed with her—but that couldn’t happen. She’d messed with his heart and made him think of things he’d like to do with a woman. But not just any woman…Ella Stevenson—uh, McGraw—and she didn’t even know it.

Slowly circling the building, he took stock of the storefronts lining the street. He’d been on many main streets, but most still had a few businesses on the outskirts. In Buffalo Wallow, their main street could be called Lone Street.

All of the buildings had been quickly erected and were of poor quality. He was glad he’d picked up cigarette fixin’s at Watson’s, as there was no general store in sight, just a downtrodden livery, one small café, and at least a dozen saloons. Some in wooden structures, several in tents, and others a combination. No rhyme or reason for the material used. Seemed whatever could be carted in was good enough to erect a saloon with.

Maybe Muley could shed some light on the mysterious goin’s on. Hayden strolled into Molly Lou’s like he’d been there a million times.

The older man was nowhere in sight.

Audrey Jo worked behind the bar, while Dixie fluttered around delivering the orders.

A thunder of laughter hailed from a table of poker players. A man in the shadows strummed a guitar and sang, his voice more out of tune than the musical instrument.

“What can I get you, Mr. McGraw?” Audrey Jo grinned and bobbled her curly red locks.

Placing a goodly amount of coins on the counter, he said, “Whatever this will buy.” He tried to smile back, but his social graces were so lacking that he knew the ol’ dance-hall girl recognized it for exactly what it was—as out of tune as the guitar picker.

“That much dinero will take you a long ways here.” She reached beneath the counter and held an amber bottle up to him. “One bit gets you whiskey, two bits the good stuff. Name your poison.”

He nodded toward the bottle Audrey Jo had in her hand.

The bartender set the liquor in front of him, along with a glass. “Just remember it was your choice.” She gave him a motherly, yet slightly flirtatious smile. “You sure do clean up nicely.”

Before he could thank her, Dixie rushed their way, spitting out an order, setting the redhead into action.

“Evening, Ranger.” Dixie mopped perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Thought you’d be with, uh, your bride tonight.”

The remark threw him a bit, but his curiosity overshadowed the truth. He needed to find out more about what was going on, and so far he’d pegged the seasoned barmaid as a gal to ride the river with. He sure as hell wanted her as a friend, because she’d be one hell of an enemy.

“I’m sure she’s sound asleep,” he offered.

“Oh, I see.” Dixie winked.

Hayden shot her a coy smile before he threw back a slug of whiskey. The hot liquid burned all the way to his toenails and nearly blew his boots off. He’d drunk more than his share of firewater, but this was the strongest he’d ever had the displeasure to drink. Hayden ran his fist across his lips trying to rid himself of the awful taste, and shuddered. “What in the hell!”

Audrey Jo slid four shot glasses to Dixie, who ignored them, snatching up the whiskey bottle instead.